


Doubt

by sunshyndaisies (writergirlie)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-03
Updated: 2011-04-03
Packaged: 2017-10-17 12:01:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writergirlie/pseuds/sunshyndaisies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quiet moment between Ron and Hermione during the search for the Horcruxes, where they confide in each other about the doubts they're having about the mission. (A missing moment set just before "The Goblin's Revenge" in <i>Deathly Hallows</i>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doubt

Harry had been quiet for some time now.

 

Hermione knew that he was probably just pretending to be asleep, but if he had gone to all the trouble to make them believe so, she wasn’t about to break the pretense. Instead, she slipped outside of the tent as quietly as she could, wand in one hand and two mugs of steaming hot tea in the other. The late night chill bit into her as soon as she stepped out and without meaning to, she gasped out loud, causing Ron to whip around, his shoulders relaxing as soon as he saw that it was her.

 

“Sorry,” she said, offering a smile. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

 

The tension left his face at once, and his mouth curved upwards as well, as he nodded towards the mugs she was clutching. “You planning on drinking all of that?”

 

“Well, I was going to offer one of these to you, but I may change my mind if you’re going to be obnoxious.”

 

He laughed softly and made his way to her. He started to stuff his wand into his pocket as he did, until Hermione made a quick, sharp movement of her head.

 

“Oh... right... Better keep it out, hadn’t I?”

 

“Just to be safe.”

 

She hated that this is what they’d come to now, three teenagers on edge all the time, expecting danger at every turn. And she hated that the Ron she’d once known, with the ready quip and the devil-may-care attitude, had been so hardened by this journey that he now looked over his shoulder instinctively every time he heard any sort of noise, that he sometimes fell silent in the stillness of the tent, eyes wide open as though he feared sleep.

 

“Here,” she said, handing over the tea. “Thought you could use it out here. It’s dreadful.”

 

“Not so bad,” he said. He sank down to sitting again and held up his hand to pull her down next to him as well. “But thanks for this.”

 

She smiled and felt her cheeks growing warm, despite the bitter cold. Above them, clouds swirled, a mass of black and charcoal, threatening rain in the next day or so. She saw him looking up at them, his breath leaving a thin trail of mist in the air. A weak thread of light poked through from the moon, hidden behind a veil of clouds, and it caught in the chain that hung around Ron’s neck. She couldn’t help but cringe at the sight of it, at remembering what it was and what they were doing out here.

 

“You OK?” he said.

 

“What? Oh... yes, I’m... I’m all right.” She fought a shudder. “Just a bit cold, that’s all.”

 

He looked sceptical, but didn’t press the matter, instead, just taking a sip of the tea. He continued to look at her, though, the intensity of his stare making her feel exposed. Then, all of a sudden, he made a movement; she caught it from the corner of her eye, and when she turned her head, she saw that he was shrugging out of his jacket.

 

“What are you...”

 

“Here,” he said, leaning over to place it on her shoulders. It was at least two sizes too big, and she felt almost like a little girl wrapped up in it.

 

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

 

“C’mon, work with me here,” he said, feigning offence. “I’m trying to do the gentlemanly thing—don’t go and bruise my ego.”

 

She laughed. “Well, in that case... thanks.”

 

She wanted to say more; it seemed such an inadequate word, but he seemed to understand the depth of meaning behind it and smiled, then gently tapped her mug with his own.

 

“Cheers,” he said, before taking a drink out of it. A while later, he looked back at the tent, where the light from the lamp was still flickering faintly, the flames beginning to die down. “D’you reckon he’s really sleeping?”

 

“I think he wants us to think so.”

 

Ron sniffed sharply; it would have sounded like a laugh, if it weren’t laced with a certain bitterness, and it unnerved her to hear it.

 

“Seems strange, doesn’t it?” he said. “To have been at this for this long and still only have one Horcrux to our name?”

 

She took a particularly big gulp of the tea, but it did nothing to displace the growing lump in her throat, nor to make the stinging in her eyes ease. The tears that had been slowly welling up in them were now starting to blur her vision.

 

“I suppose I thought we’d be further along, yes,” she finally said—softly, as though Harry could hear, though she knew he couldn’t.

 

Or at least, would be trying not to.

 

“All that time he was with Dumbledore... All those private lessons... I just thought...”

 

Ron shook his head. She knew what he was thinking; she was thinking it too. But neither of them had dared to voice it up until now. Apparently, he couldn’t either, because his voice trailed off without conclusion, and a moment later, he set the mug on the ground, then stood and walked to the edge of the camp, just where the enchantments had been set. Hermione watched him for a second or two, then got up and walked towards him, tentatively placing a hand on his shoulder and taking comfort in the fact that he didn’t shake off her touch.

 

“I know,” she said. “I know, it’s... disappointing...” She took a breath, then said, hoping he wouldn’t take it the wrong way, “But we said—”

 

“That we’d help him. I remember.”

 

There was such hardness to his words, a hardness to his face that she couldn’t bear. Without realising it, she’d given his arm a gentle squeeze, and it must have taken him by surprise as much as it had her, because she saw him look down on her hand, then slowly, move his gaze upwards to her face.

 

“Hermione...”

 

The harsh edge to his voice was gone, and yet it was raw and rough all the same.

 

Vulnerable.

 

“Don’t... please don’t hate me for saying all that...”

 

She shook her head. “I don’t. It’s... I understand. I do.”

 

The chain around his neck caught the light again, the jewel glinting with an eerie glow that made her shudder. She reached up to finger the chain, then let out a soundless gasp when he closed his hand over hers.

 

“Hermione...”

 

She could feel his breath on her face, felt him move closer, and all rational thought leaked out of her brain as he laced his fingers through hers.

 

If she closed her eyes... If she closed them now, then maybe she could believe this was really happening. That it was about to happen...

 

Then suddenly, a twig snapped in the distance. They jumped apart at once, both letting out strangled yelps, and Hermione’s wand clattered to the ground, where it bounced off a pile of dead wood.

 

“I’ve got it,” he said, bending down to retrieve it.

 

Her heart was still hammering in her chest, threatening to burst through her rib cage, and she wondered how in the world she would remain standing on legs so unsteady. His fingers brushed hers—lingering a little longer than necessary—when he handed back her wand. He was smiling sheepishly, and even in the wan light of the moon, she could tell that his cheeks had turned into that familiar shade of scarlet.

 

Hers probably had to, come to that.

 

“What’s going on out here?”

 

Harry had burst out of the tent, hair sticking up in all directions and his glasses askew, as though he’d barely had time to put them back on before he came running out.

 

“It’s fine,” said Ron. “We’re fine... go back to bed.”

 

“Just some animal skulking about in the woods, I think,” Hermione added. “We, um... we were just a little too jumpy and overreacted.”

 

Harry stayed rooted to his spot all the same, then eventually swallowed. “You’re sure? Maybe we should... you know, have a look around.”

 

“Nah, it’s fine—”

 

“Look, it’s just about my turn anyway,” said Hermione, turning to Ron. “Why don’t you go and get some sleep?”

 

“Oh,” he said. She couldn’t tell whether that was surprise or disappointment on his face. “Yeah, I s’pose... I s’pose I could do with a bit of shut eye...”

 

Harry had gone back inside, leaving her and Ron alone again, with Ron halfway towards the tent and looking as though he didn’t want to follow Harry.

 

She smiled and nodded towards the tent. “Go on.”

 

“You’ll be all right?”

 

“Hey, I can take care of myself, you know.”

 

His mouth quirked into a lop-sided grin. “Oh I know,” he said, and he held up his arm and pulled back his sleeve slightly, then pointed to his forearm, which still bore the faint scars from the birds she’d set on him last year. “I’ve got the marks to prove it.”

 

She laughed, then remembered she was still wearing his jacket. She started to take it off, but he shook his head.

 

“Keep it,” he said. “It’s bloody cold out here.”

 

She smiled. “Thanks.”

 

“Sure.”

 

And in that moment, she saw it: the old Ron. The boyish smile she’d got to know over the last seven years. He hadn’t completely disappeared after all, and it gave her a small piece of comfort.

 

Whatever this war would bring, wherever this dangerous search would lead, he was still there. And maybe, just maybe, when this was all over, he could return for real.

 

 

 


End file.
